


true romance is dead (i shot it in the chest and in the head)

by bleuboxes



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Humor, Mutual Pining, Romance, anne is a hopeless romantic and in DENIAL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 22:50:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15592533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleuboxes/pseuds/bleuboxes
Summary: Gilbert Blyth is handsome. Gilbert Blythe is kind and genuine and smart. Gilbert Blythe could have any woman on the North American Continent and still never look at Anne twice.She knows this. She accepts this. And she’s trying her damnedest to be happy about it.Plot twist: she is not happy about it.





	true romance is dead (i shot it in the chest and in the head)

**Author's Note:**

> i started re-watching anne with an e and i've loved anne and gilbert since i was like 12 and i got hit with some Inspo so here we are.
> 
> apologies for mistakes and title is from a fall out boy song.  
> it's really dramatic Yike.

Anne is _not_ a romantic.

She’s simply not – regardless of what Diana or any of her other friends would say.

She believes that there is a difference – a _big_ difference between being a romantic and wanting the imaginable. Anne prides herself on envisioning the fantastic, on hoping some variation of the sort just might come true, but that doesn’t make her a romantic.

So, maybe, she has a few ridiculous expectations that have no other suitable term other than that dreaded romantic word, but who doesn’t?

So, _boom-roasted,_ Diana.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Anne has this thing – where she writes letters to her friends while they’re away at school. She’s ridiculous in the way that she addresses them all like she’s some wealthy aristocrat in Victorian London writing to her dearest friend, or darling lover or something of that sort.

It’s all jest mostly.

It gets a good laugh out of Cole, Gilbert, and Diana, regardless.

Anne is not a romantic, but she likes to entertain the notions of being someone else of far more importance – of being more beautiful, more ancient, more wealthy, more loved – and not just some dumb third year college student.

Not that she’s dumb; she graduated the best in her graduating high-school class and she’s got quite an appetite for knowledge.

She feels dumb sometimes though.

But it’s like the romantic thing, just because she may feel dumb some times doesn’t mean she actually is.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Anne’s friends go to school all over, and she only rarely ever gets to see them – which is a right shame considering how fond she is of all of them.

However, in the circumstances surrounding Anne’s fondness of Gilbert, she does not think their separation… bad.

It’s more along the lines of _I can actually think clearly when he’s not around._ Which has nothing to do with the fact that he’s an annoying little shit any more, and more to do with the fact that Anne’s very sure she finds him disgustingly handsome and -not that she’d ever tell him this to his face – that he’s got a wit that almost measures up to her own.

In not so many words, Anne fancies him.

Quite a lot.

These feelings of being desperately enamored with Gilbert are not all new – for the most part; Anne does think that she’s been somewhat attracted to him since she was, like, sixteen.

She’s just three weeks short of her twenty-first birthday, now. So that’s cool; it’s been about five years of pining hopelessly over Gilbert Blythe - her chief rival, ex-enemy, and one of her dearest friends.

Diana – ever the optimist – has always repeated this stupid rhetoric that Gilbert’s been in love with her all these years, and Anne, always the realist, never entertains her romantic notions.

Because they’re dumb. Not logical. Silly.

Gilbert Blyth is handsome. Gilbert Blythe is kind and genuine and smart. Gilbert Blythe could have any woman on the North American Continent and still never look at Anne twice.

She knows this. She accepts this. And she’s trying her damnedest to be happy about it.

Plot twist: she is not happy about it.

Anne knows she’s not the prettiest thing to look at – her vibrant red hair is only the _bane of her entire existence_. But it’s been twenty years of looking at herself in the mirror, and she’s grown comfortable with her appearance.

She’s grown fond of the constellations of freckles that are placed upon her face (and everywhere else), she doesn’t mind how bony she is, nor how green her eyes are.

In the right light, she very nearly looks pretty.

Not pretty enough for Gilbert, but pretty enough to settle for some lesser person.

Not that Anne is all consumed with her outward appearance. She’d much rather someone value her for her intellect and worth.

 

  

* * *

 

 

 

There’s about a week and a half left of the spring semester, and Anne is in-between studying and writing letters to her friends – she’s trying to find the right words for Diana and Cole and Gilbert but, they aren’t coming.

Well, they come easily enough for Diana and for Cole – it’s just Gilbert’s letter.

Goddamn Gilbert and his goddamn face and personality.

For the first time in her life, Anne has trouble writing to him – usually he’s the easiest to write to. Usually everything just flows in a natural progression. Usually Anne isn’t worried about the overly flirtatious nature of her letters.

Either way, she shakes off the apprehension and writes to him of how she can’t wait to catch up with him of her shenanigans of this semester that he has yet to hear, of how she hopes all is well for him.

She signs, with all her love, and folds the letter quickly before she changes her mind about sending it.

She’s a fucking mess; she’s going to have to call Diana about this.

God bless Diana, but she does not help Anne feel better about the matter. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Anne is back in Avonlea. It’s quieter here than it is at university. The air smells of fresh blooms and country roads. Anne likes it here – she needs a break from the hustle and bustle of life sometimes.

This place is her refuge – she can roam the forests and the fields and the farm and feel like she’s got some semblance of a purpose. She always feels wanted among the natural beings in Avonlea. She can spew all her fancy language and innermost thoughts like it’s a paperless diary.

She’s spent most of the day out here, just sitting in an old friendly tree, but she’s got to get back to Green Gables now; she’s meeting Diana for a night out later and she needs to get ready.

So, Anne rushes back to her home. Greets Marilla with a tender kiss on the cheek before rushing up to her room, and hurries to put on a nice pair of jeans and a pretty green blouse. She takes her hair out of her too-tight braids and gently brushes them out, letting her hair fall as gently as it can against her shoulders. She puts a light amount of makeup on her face then rushes out the front door as quickly as she came.

She’s off to Diana’s house.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Except, Anne is never on time for anything. She gets distracted by a patch of beautiful flowers, and of course she has to pick some for her friend. She sees wonderful rays of light and needs to take a million pictures so she can remember this view forever.

She dallies on her way and for that dallying, she pays.

Well, not pays, exactly; she just happens to stumble into Gilbert.

Which is great.

It’s not great. She’s caught off guard like one of those female protagonists in her favorite books.

Diana will say this encounter is romantic. Anne will beg to differ; it’s very inconvenient.

Anne apologizes for not paying attention to where she’s going. Gilbert laughs and tells her not to worry about it – like a fucking gentleman. Anne can’t meet his eyes – he’s so pretty when he’s laughing; she’s gone and gotten herself rather flustered.

But she doesn’t need to look at his eyes to know there’s a twinkle of something marvelous within the hazel depth of them.

She does realize it’s a bit strange that she hasn’t looked at her dear friend yet, so she sucks up her fear and throws him a little smile – and she’s taken away.

It isn’t fair; every time she sees him he gets more handsome – his hair always looks more lush and she wants to run her fingers through it more, his arms always look more muscular and she wants to touch them, his face is brighter and she desperately wants to kiss it.

And his lips – a delicious strawberry pink – she can’t help but look at those. It isn’t fair – that he’s here looking like some sort of romantic hero.

Not that Anne likes romantic heroes.

She gets wrapped up in her thoughts about kissable lips and romantic notions and being in love with best friends that she doesn’t hear him calling her name. It’s only when he grabs her hand that she looks up – right into his eyes –

“Anne,” he whispers. She has the decency to blush when she drops his hand.

“Yeah?”

“You alright?”

“Yeah. Sorry, just distracted,” she rambles, “lots of thoughts and such.”

It’s quiet for a moment – the only thing that can be heart is the quiet whimpering of the wind through the forest. This is quite strange considering usually no one can get a word in edgewise when Anne and Gilbert meet up.

“Gilbert,” she asks, “do you reckon this is romantic?” she’s not sure why she asks, maybe it’s because she has no sense of self-preservation. Maybe because she needs a second opinion in order to prove Diana wrong. Maybe it’s because Diana’s fucking right or she just really wants to kiss Gilbert Blythe’s stupid face senseless in the middle of the woods.

“Is there a specific answer you’re looking for?”

“Yes, obviously,” she laughs, “the honest one.”

“It feels romantic, Anne,” he gulps and somehow moves closer to her, “I want it to be romantic – I want to kiss you now more than ever – did you not think I wouldn’t notice you looking at my lips?”

“Of course I didn’t think you would notice!”

“I notice everything you do  -“

“Oh, shut up.” She rolls his eyes. He’s making a foolish spectacle of himself. Anne loves it.

“Do not tell me, my darling Anne, that those letters meant nothing to you,” he takes a dramatic sigh, and suddenly he’s all sincerity, “this is not how I pictured telling you this, but I love you – and don’t know if the feelings are requited but with your last letter and with everything that’ just transpired I can’t keep telling myself that it’s just a passing fancy especially since it been years and –“

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Anne says then kisses him. Anne is not a romantic, but this might be the most romantic thing she’s ever experienced. Kissing gilbert is like feeling a million fires within her soul but also being strangely calm. Kissing Gilbert makes her feel like the ocean – chaotic and harmonious all at once.

They break apart amidst laughter.

“This is ridiculous.”

“Diana’s gonna be so smug. I won’t be able to handle it.”

“ _C’est la vie._ ”

“You are aware that is a romance language, right?”

“Shut up, Gilbert.”

“Make me.”

“Oh, absolutely not.”

(She does. )

**Author's Note:**

> validate me,,,, pls


End file.
